a sentinel of racial tolerance in a sea of interstellar prejudice. It had done much to change attitudes in the three galaxies.
Now humans were family to the military Cehn-Tahr. Many of Mekashe’s comrades were as fascinated with the species as he was himself.
Mekashe had dreamed for most of his life about a blonde human female with exquisite features. But unlike Edris Mallory, who was short and delicate, Mekashe’s dream female was tall and willowy, and kindhearted. He had the gift of telepathy, which he shared only with the Royal Clan, of which he was part. Cehn-Tahr never publicized the ability among outworlders. In fact, they never spoke of their culture to anyone outside Memcache, the home planet of the Cehn-Tahr.
He wondered about the prophetic dream. Only Caneese, the bonded mate of the emperor, had such a great gift for seeing the future. It had not arisen in any other member of the Clan. But Mekashe often saw things before they happened. So the gift was at least present in him, if not as formidable as Caneese’s ability.
He was probably just dreaming, he thought, amused at his own weakness. His position gave him status among the Cehn-Tahr. Captain of the Imperial Guard was no small government job. It put him among planetal leaders, like Field Marshal Chacon, former field of the Rojok Army, who was now Premier of the Rojok Republic, having displaced the despot who had ruled after Mangus Lo. The depravity of the former Rojok government was something that Chacon was still having to live down. The death camp at Ahkmau had been hidden from everyone, even from Chacon, until he was forced to go there to save the Cehn-Tahr emperor’s daughter, Lyceria. In the course of that rescue, he had helped the humans and Cehn-Tahr of the Morcai Battalion to escape execution, as well. Now, in an irony of fate, Chacon was bonded to the emperor’s daughter. They were expecting their first child very soon. Gossip said that Chacon, that powerhouse of might, was pacing the floor and worrying himself to death, like any other prospective father. His passion for his mate had raised eyebrows, because Rojoks and Cehn-Tahr were traditional enemies. Now all sorts of new bonds were being formed. Homogenous cultures were becoming galactic ones, with the mixing. It produced some beautiful children. Kipling, Rhemun’s son, was one of those. He had long, curly blond hair—his father had long, curly black hair—and human features, but he had his father’s cat eyes that changed color with emotion. It was an exotic, fascinating blend of traits.
Mekashe would have liked a son, but he had found no Cehn-Tahr woman with whom he wanted to bond. The dreams of perfection, of that blonde phantom, haunted him. Probably, he reasoned, it was only a dream, and he would never meet...
“But I know it was this way!” a soft, feminine voice wailed, interrupting his thoughts. “I can’t believe this! Why isn’t there a map of the ship, or a holo, or anything...! Oh! Hello,” she said as she stopped just in front of Mekashe. “Sorry, I was just talking to myself. I do that, far too much. I’m lost. I’m lost! I was supposed to meet my father for dinner, and I can’t find him or the dining room or anything! I’m just hopeless!”
Mekashe’s eyes had turned from the solid blue of introspection to the soft, twinkling green of amusement as he listened to her. She was substance out of his dreams. He could hardly believe it. She was tall and willowy, with perfect, beautiful features. She had blue eyes and wavy blond hair pulled up into an elegant hairdo with glittering jewel accents. She was wearing blue—a pale, soft blue gown that left her arms and her nape bare, but covered her completely from neck to toe in front and draped in soft folds down to her jeweled high-heel shoes. She was the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen in his life.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted when he didn’t speak. She wondered if he spoke some other tongue than hers. Her high cheekbones colored red. “I apologize for...” she began loudly, as if he might be hard of hearing rather than raised in a separate language.
He held up a hand and smiled. “No apology is needed,” he said in a deep, soft tone, in unaccented Standard. “The ship is extremely large and there are no virtual hubs to help you find your way. Where do you want to go?”
She studied him with utter fascination. “Did your eyes just change color?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide and unblinking on his golden-skinned face. He had eyes oddly like a cat. She was afraid of cats. But he was a man. He was a gorgeous man. She could overlook the eyes. They weren’t really catlike at all, she thought.
He chuckled, or what passed for one in a Cehn-Tahr. “Yes,” he said. “It is a characteristic of my race. The colors mirror moods.” This much he was allowed by custom to discuss. The color changes were well-known.
“What is green?” she asked, truly interested.
“Amusement,” he said softly.
“Oh!” She sighed. “I was afraid that I’d offended you!”
“If so, my eyes would be dark brown, not green,” he replied.
“Are you an alien?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been off Terravega until we boarded this vessel. I saw a blue man just now!”
“Altair,” he said. “Possibly Jebob. The eye colors are different, but they both come from the same ancestry.”
“That’s fascinating!”
So was she. He was entranced. She’d never been off-world. Never seen an alien. He’d been all over the three galaxies and had seen races that were even now almost unreal.
“Would you like me to escort you to the dining room?” he asked politely.
“That would be so kind of you!”
He managed a smile. It was foreign to his culture, but he studied human traits and often emulated them. It was a holdover from his infatuation with Edris Mallory.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and bowed slightly.
She caught her breath. He was gorgeous. She’d never seen anyone so handsome, alien or human.
Unknown to her, he read those thoughts with delight. The attraction was mutual, it seemed.
“Are you on holiday?” she asked as they walked past bulkheads that lined the outer structure of the spacegoing ship.
He chuckled. “I am returning to my home, after attending a conference. I would have taken a shorter route, but my...employer said that I needed the downtime. So it will be weeks before I reach my destination.”
She smiled. “Most people benefit from an occasional holiday. I know my poor father does. He was a college professor on Terravega—that’s where we’re from. He taught political science.”
“An interest of mine,” he replied.
She made a face. “I hate politics,” she murmured.
His dark eyebrows lifted in an almost-human manner. “What subject do you prefer?”
“Medicine!” she said enthusiastically. “I wanted so desperately to be a surgeon, but my mother, God rest her soul, was horrified, even though she was a physician from the time she was out of secondary school.”
“Why?” he asked gently.
“She said that I was far too innocent and sheltered for such a brutal profession.” She sighed. “Besides that, the only career path I could find led through the military. When I mentioned that, Daddy got involved, and he and my mother blindsided me.” She didn’t add that she despised the military,
